


When I'm Gone

by shishcabob22



Series: I Thought I Wouldn't Miss You (Until You Were Gone) [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x21, Aggressive Dean, Angels, Cas Worried, Dean Angst, Gen, Mark of Cain, Sam worried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishcabob22/pseuds/shishcabob22
Summary: Dean is finally going to face Abaddon, but at what cost?





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> We're getting close! These last fics will probably be the longest (and hopefully the best). Also, I know, it's been a week since I last updated. I start school tomorrow so it might take even longer than I wanted to finish. I'm hoping maybe a fic a week? We'll see.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is probably a bit rough (I'm very tired and have not edited it properly yet) but I figure you guys deserve something after waiting so patiently (if you're still here, wow. You're incredible). I'm probably going to go back and make it better when I finish this fic (which will definitely be this week I swear).
> 
> Enjoy!

The impala pulled up to a nondescript building, plainly labeled as the Central Mucipal Power Corp. The brothers regarded the building skeptically. They had gotten a vague call from Cas that morning asking them to come meet with him as soon as they could. Of course Sam and Dean had agreed immidiately, but this was a little odd, even for their eccentric angel friend.

"This the address?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

Sam got out of the car and trudged up to the door behind Dean. He was about to knock when it swung inward, and a snobby-looking angel appeared. 

"If you'll follow me, the Commander will see you now," the angel said.

"Commander?" Dean whispered disbelievingly. Sam just shrugged and followed the angel inside.

Sam quickly found that the building's drab outward appearance was incredibly deceiving--which might have actually been on purpose. The brothers were led into a large room equipped with state of the art technology. It was filled to the brim with angels, typing on keyboards and tracing patterns and generally seeming important.

The angel who had greeted them at the door showed them to a glass-walled office, where they could see Cas analyzing a map. The angel opened the door. "Sir," he addressed Castiel.

Sam and Dean walked in, and Cas gave each of them a hug. He looked over at the angel, who was still standing in the doorway. "Um...dismissed." The angel nodded and left. Cas turned to the brothers. "He can be a little stuffy."

"So...Commander?" Dean raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yeah, not my idea," Cas said sheepishly. "They had no leader, and they insisted on following me."

"Yeah. No, we get it. You're a rock star."

"Bartholomew is dead. Malachi was murdered by Gadreel, and with Metatron as powerful as he is now, I needed to do something," Cas said defensively.

"So this war between angels is really gonna happen, huh?" Sam asked.

"Not if I can find a diplomatic option for getting rid of Metatron."

"Good luck with that," Dean scoffed.

"Dean, this angel-on-angel violence--it has to end. Someone has to say 'enough'," Cas insisted.

"And that someone is you?" Sam knew Cas only had good intentions, but just last year he'd been mind controlled by Naomi and manipulated by Metatron. Frankly, he wasn't sure the angel could pull it off.

"That brings me to why you're here," Cas said, smoothly changing the topic. "We have a prisoner. It's an angel from Metatron's inner circle. I need to know what they're planning, but so far, he's revealed nothing."

"So, you're done with the rough stuff, and you want us to be your goons?" Dean asked, crossing his arms.

"Well, you've had success at these situations before. If you don't want to do it, I understand."

Dean's eyes glinted and his mouth twisted slightly. "Who says I don't want to do it?" 

* * *

 Sam and Dean entered a cell that looked--and smelled--like a cleaner version of their dungeon back at the bunker. An underwhelming angel in a sweater vest sat chained to a chair in the center of the room. He appeared smug, but the fix of his gaze suggested that his confidence came from stupidity, not experience.

The angel--Cas had called him Ezra--smiled and leaned back in his chair. "You're wasting your time. I have nothing to say."

"We disagree," Dean said menacingly. His blade gleamed in the dim light.

"There's no use torturing me. I am a trained commando. It won't work," Ezra said.

"Wow. Well, you just asked me to dance," Dean growled, surging forward with the angel blade.

Sam quickly stepped forward and put his hand out to block Dean. "Dean!" The older hunter looked up, about two seconds away from stabbing Sam if he didn't move. Sam was distantly reminded of Roger, how Dean had slowly shoved his own knife into his heart. Of the look in his eyes that had scared him then, and never seemed to leave now.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and dragged him to the front of the room. "He won't be telling us anything dead," he murmured.

Dean was still holding the angel blade in a vice grip, and Sam was relatively certain that if he didn't think of something fast, Ezra would stop breathing sooner rather than later. He raised his voice and glanced over at the captive angel. "Besides, you know, I'm really starting to realize that he probably doesn't know anything."

It took Dean longer than it should've to catch on--just another thing to add to Sam's growing pile of concerns. But that didn't matter just then. What mattered is what they could get from the dim angel, which turned out to be a hell of a lot.

"No wonder he got bumped," Dean muttered once they left the cell.

"Yeah. 'Ground forces'? 'Elite secret squad'? What's Metatron gearing up for?" Sam wondered aloud.

"I don't know, why don't we shove somebody through the back door of heaven and find out? Oh, wait, no. It's portable and can't be found," Dean said sarcastically. Sam shrugged and followed his brother towards Cas' office.

* * *

 "And he said the door to heaven is portable?" Cas asked disbelievingly. Sam nodded, but he was only really half listening. Most of his attention was directed at Dean, who had started twirling his blade and watching the angels through the office window about ten minutes ago. Suddenly Dean stiffened, and Sam turned just in time to see a dark-haired angel burst into the office. She cast Sam and Dean a look that bordered between suspicion and fear as she pulled Cas aside. They exchanged a few heated  words in some ancient language Sam couldn't identify, clearly debating something.

The angel finally backed down, and schooled her features before turning to face the room as a whole. When she spoke her voice was flat, but her eyes sparked with accusation. "I went to check on the prisoner, and found him dead from a blade to the heart. The chains were untouched and there was no weapon in the area."

The shocked tension in the room was palpable. Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Sam knew his brother had been...more impulsive than usual lately, but there was no way he could've done this; Sam was with him the whole time. 

Cas finally broke the silence. "Thank you, Ruth. You may leave us now." Ruth nodded curtly and left.

"It's unbelievable. I mean, he was fine when we left him," Sam said immediately.

"I barely touched the guy," Dean added. 

"Still shackled, no weapon. It wasn't suicide," Sam mused.

"No. This was an angel kill," Cas said.

"Okay. Well, I'm gonna say it. Maybe your operation's been hacked. You know, Metatron's got somebody on the inside," Dean said. Sam had to admit, it seemed like the only possibility at this point.

Cas lowered his head. "I was sure everyone here was loyal. Finally united by a common cause."

"Well, that's the problem. See, you don't think anybody's lying. I think everybody's lying." Cas looked up at that. "It's a gift." Dean turned to Sam. "Let's do some nosin' around."

Sam furrowed his brow. He remembered a time not too long ago when Dean trusted much too easily. Trusted to the point of inadvertently putting their friends in the line of fire. Now...now, Sam wasn't sure. He wasn't too sure of anything concerning his brother anymore.

* * *

 Sam looked around the compound for clues half-heartedly, unable to keep his mind on the task. Thoughts whirled endlessly and uncontrollably in his mind, cycling from one unsolvable problem to the next. He finally gave up and went to see if Dean had been any more successful.

Sam found his brother sitting in one of the unoccupied offices. Dean was grasping the Mark on his forearm, gaze holding an intensity that made Sam uncomfortable. He didn't even flinch when his phone began buzzing loudly on the desk. Sam waved his hand in front of Dean's face.

"Dean. Dean! What's wrong with you? You hear your phone?"

Dean blinked and picked up his phone without glancing at his brother.

"It's about time. Where the hell have you been?" Dean snapped. Crowley, then.

"Where are you?" Dean asked. He nodded once, then hung up. He looked up at Sam. His eyes held a passion, an energy that Sam hadn't seen in much too long. But it seemed twisted, somehow.

"We've got her."


	2. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE GO BACK AND REREAD CHAPTER ONE BEFORE READING THIS. I finally edited it and I swear it's way better now. Also I'm waaaay busier than I thought I'd be so it looks like it's gonna take a while for me to finish this series. I might only be able to update on weekends, but we'll see what happens. Anyway, enjoy!

_"Give me your hand. That's it."_

_The Blade was pressed into his palm, and the Mark burned red hot._

_He stood before Sam, hand trembling, feeling nothing but fire._

_"Drop the Blade, Dean..."_

Dean's hands tightened on the wheel. The Mark pulsed and throbbed, desperate for its companion. It was almost torture, having it so close yet still so far out of reach.

Sam kept sending him these looks, and he was just so sick of it all. The sooner they could end this, the better. Dean reached for his phone and dialed.

"Squirrel. I hope you were nice to your father," Crowley greeted.

"What? Shut up. Look, we got the Blade."

"You do? Well, you need to get it here at once. Cleveland, Humboldt Hotel. Penthouse, of course. When you get here, I'll take you to Abaddon. I'll draw her out, and then you can skewer the ignorant hag."

"Alright, we're on our way."

"Oh, and Dean, you need to get a move on. It's a good day's drive from Poughkeepsie."

"What are you talking about? We're not even near there."

"Yeah, like I said, you need to leave Poughkeepsie right away."

It took him a moment--longer than it should have--but Dean understood. Poughkeepsie. Drop everything and run. His and Sam's code word.

It was a trap.

"So, we good?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced over at his brother. He'd almost forgotten Sam was there. Of course, he couldn't tell him the truth. Sam would want to take precautions, go in together. Dean couldn't risk that. Couldn't risk the mission.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good." 

* * *

The impala rolled to a stop across the street from the Humboldt Hotel the next morning. Dean threw the car into park and stepped out onto the pavement. 

Sam joined Dean next to one of the cement pillars of the bridge they were parked under, holding the Blade wrapped in one of their old oil cloths.

"Alright. Let's do this," Sam said.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a sec." Sam raised an eyebrow. "We should give this place a once-over before we go up there. Crowley said he thought he saw some demons headed down to the basement. He'd have checked it out himself, but if word got back to Abaddon that he'd been seen..."

"When did he say all this?" Sam asked.

"On the phone. Look, it might mean that she knows that he's here, okay? So why don't you check out the basement. I'll, uh, take a look on the main floor."

Sam looked a little doubtful, but didn't argue. Good. Dean grabbed the Blade from Sam and walked purposefully towards the hotel, the shrill whine of the Mark steadily increasing in volume as he went.

* * *

 As soon as Dean entered the hotel, he unwrapped the Blade and curled his fingers around the bare bone. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking in a deep, shuddering breath as the feelings flooded through him. Power washed over him, reaching from his core to the ends of his limbs, bringing with it the only real control--the only real _peace_ \--there ever was anymore. 

Dean began walking toward the elevator. He didn't need to search the building. He could feel where the Blade needed him to go. Dean walked through the halls, barely registering the fact that the hotel was strangely empty.

He must have missed some time, because it seemed like only a few seconds later he reached the suite. Dean took a moment the readjust his grip on the Blade before opening the door slowly. He needed to be careful about this, but caution was slowly fading into the back of his mind.  It was like he could already feel the Blade piercing Abaddon's flesh, hear her screams, taste her blood--

"Hello, Dean," Crowley said. He was sitting practically immobile in one of the chairs, as if he was bound by invisible chains. His right hand was covered in blood, clutching his shoulder. "Love the crazy bloodlust in your eyes."

Dean tapped the Blade to his shoulder, silently asking where Abaddon was. "Let's not waste time. I'll take you to Abaddon. It's not far." 

Crowley's eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder and Dean spun around and stabbed the Blade through the demon without even blinking. Before he could make another move, he was slammed into the wall. Abaddon entered the room with her hand stretched out, keeping him pinned. 

"A boy and his Blade. And still no match for the new queen."

Abaddon stalked towards Dean, watching him struggle with a smug smile. "So, first, you'll die...painfully. And then Crowley will watch his son die--ditto--and then the king himself. And Blade destroyed." She put her hands on her hips. "Well, that's quite a to-do list."

Dean tightened his grip on the Blade as the Mark flared in his arm.  A surge of power ran through him and he dropped to the ground with ease. Abaddon's smug smirk fell away and she stuck out her hand, the force on the hunter increasing. Dean stumbled back, but quickly recovered and continued fighting his way toward her. She gritted her teeth, and Dean flew back up against the wall. Abaddon laughed as he dropped the Blade on impact.

Dean could feel her hold on him growing, crushing him. He managed to turn his head and his gaze landed on the blood-coated Blade. The Mark burned on his skin, in his bones. He could feel Cain's grip on his arm, hear his words echoing in his ears.

_"The Mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy."_

_Images flashed past him. Roger. Magnus. Gadreel. Those vamps in Sioux Falls. Every time, his hands drenched in blood. Every time, feeling nothing but calm._

_"Why are you fighting what you really are?"_

The Blade leapt into Dean's hand. Everything seemed to click into place. Energy flowed through his veins like lava and he fell from the wall, stalking towards Abaddon.

Wind howled as Abaddon desperately tried to throw him away from her. Dean didn't falter as he marched up and stabbed her through the stomach.

The Mark _sang._ The force of the blow lifted Abaddon off the ground and Dean kept her there, blood trickling down the Blade as he stared directly into her eyes. The demon screamed, red energy ripping through what was left of her soul, illuminating her from the inside out. She collapsed to the ground, dead.

Dean fell to his knees next to Abaddon, pounding the Blade into her flesh over and over. Blood splattered onto his face. Every sound had blended together into a dull roar and he couldn't see anything but he could feel _everything--_

"Dean! Stop!"

Sam's voice pierced the haze of red, snapping the rest of the world into focus. Dean looked up, panting, meeting his little brother's relieved gaze. He dimly wondered when Sam had gotten there. 

"You can stop. It's over."

Dean looked down at Abaddon's bloody corpse, then at the Blade. It stuck to his fingers a little when he dropped it, and only then did Dean notice the blood coating his arm, the Blade, running into his eyes. The heat of the Mark faded, and Dean stared at his shaking hand. 

Abaddon was dead. He wasn't. 

And all he could think about was the blood.


	3. Sam Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I edited chapters one and two AGAIN so I would really appreciate it if you read them again and tell me what you think! Also looks like we're gonna have to go with the chapter-a-weekend approach...deepest apologies. Enjoy!

The next few hours passed in a blur for Sam. One moment Dean was kneeling in a pool of Abaddon's blood, shock written all over his face, the next Crowley was gone and Sam was wondering what the hell was going on.

They had managed to clean up and escape the hotel without arousing any suspicions, which Sam would've thought impressive if there had been anyone occupying it. Now they were back in the impala, on a bee-line for the bunker. The tension in the car was palpable.

Abaddon was dead. Finally. It had been their goal, their mission, for months. Especially Dean's. But Sam didn't feel victorious. This didn't feel like an ending. It felt like a beginning. And not a good one.

_"Dean, stop! You can stop. It's over."_

And Dean had stopped. Only for Sam to find out that Dean had lied to him so he could go after Abaddon alone.

Dean finally broke the silence. "I didn't tell you about the warning because I knew exactly what you would do. You would make sure that you were right alongside me going in that room."

"You mean like we always do? Because we're partners in this and we watch each other's backs?" Sam asked indignantly. He felt that old anger rising up again, coloring his words.

"I don't expect you to understand," Dean said calmly.

"Try me."

Dean sent a loaded look Sam's way before averting his gaze to the road again. "First time I touched that Blade...I knew. I knew that I wouldn't be stopped. I knew I would take down Abaddon and anything else if I had to. And it wasn't a hero thing. You know, it wasn't...it was just calm. I knew. And I had to go it alone Sammy."

"Oh. Of course. So it was just another time where you had to protect me," Sam scoffed.

"You could've gotten nabbed by Abaddon, and she could've bargained her way out. We couldn't afford to screw this up," Dean argued.

Sam's anger drained away as quickly as it had come. Dean was actually making sense, and that was the problem. Just a few months ago, "keep Sam safe" would've been a good enough reason for anything. Hell, a few months ago it _had_. And as much as he hated that he always had to be priority number one, stuff like that didn't just change overnight.

And Sam was glad that Dean had climbed out of the hole he had dug himself, he really was. But he also knew that it wasn't all Dean. The Blade--the Mark--was doing something to him, and probably had been longer than Sam had realized _._

"Look, I'm glad it worked out, okay? I am. And I'm glad the Blade gives you strength or calm or whatever, but, Dean, I got to say... I'm starting to think the Blade is doing something else, too."

"Yeah? Like what?" Dean asked disinterestedly.

"I don't know. Like, something to _you._  Look, I'm thinking until we know for sure that we're gonna kill off Crowley, why don't we store the Blade somewhere distant? Lock it up somewhere safe?"

Sam stared at his brother, waiting for a response. Dean didn't say anything.

"Okay?" he pushed.

Dean tightened his jaw, glaring straight ahead at the road.

"No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH so glad I finally finished this one! Let me know what you think, I love any feedback or inspiration!


End file.
